


view from the top

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Rhizome-era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 08:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27467944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: Stubbornness and the regret of a god bring back something old in the Rhizome.
Relationships: Fero Feritas/Samol
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	view from the top

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/ex_aItiora/status/1316057445404471299).

When Fero first came into the world, screaming at the top of his new lungs, Samol wasn't aware of him. He'd felt Fero the same as he'd felt any new life, another tiny point on the surface of Hieron, but he hadn’t thought anything of him specifically. There was always someone new coming into the world, the same as there was always someone going out, and Samol couldn’t look at all of them.

It wasn't until Fero made his way into the forest that Samol began to take note of him. Animals began to speak of him to each other, spreading news between their herds and flocks of this odd, scruffy halfling who was always watching them, always hedging his way around their spaces and poking around the plants of the woods. Even that might not have been enough to get Samol's interest, if the animals and birds of the forest hadn't also spoken of how he was kind, talking to them softly as he helped them out of hunter's traps or coaxed them into taking some of his food for their own during the winter.

That Severea and Galenica also took notice of him wasn't so surprising, then. Fero took his boons the way he seemed to take all of life, good and bad, with surprise, as though he hadn't realised that the universe was taking notice of him, as though his own skills surprised and delighted him.

It was charming, to watch this halfling surprise himself. Samol could feel it, bleeding into the soil of the earth around Fero’s feet as he took his first hop as a rabbit or vibrating through the bark of a tree where he tried landing as a bird for the first time. It reminded him of when he’d first seen such things come into being, when everyday animals and plants were brand new across Hieron’s surface. It felt different to the tinge of nostalgia that he sometimes looked at the past through. This time, it was lit by Fero’s bright energy, bouncing through the forest.

Samol kept an eye on him. It was a novetly, to wonder at what someone might do, and to have them surprise you so constantly.

He never, not even with his thousands of years, would have thought that Fero would have pulled Lem King under his wing, shepherding him out of the Archives and into the world. He, perhaps,  _ might  _ have expected some level of trouble at Nacre, but certainly not… all that. Fero himself seemed as surprised by the events as anyone else, throwing himself into the fray and the courtroom with the vigour by which he did everything. Samol, again, found himself charmed.

He was glad, after that, to be able to meet Fero in person before the end, in all of his prickly irritation and joyous excitement. It was different to watching him from a god’s distance. Fero poked  _ back  _ at him, for example, as heedless of Samol’s godly powers and influence as Fero had been to any of the other gods he’d ever met. Fero poked at him until Samol found himself offering to take food with Fero, and to walk with him in the gardens, making Samol stop short every time he got distracted by some new flower or insect that was as new to him as if it had only just come into existence.

How odd, to feel reborn, when he was so close to the other end of life. But then, Fero had always been like that. It was one of Samol’s last, true regrets, that he wouldn’t get to stick around and see how Fero turned out. Samol was sure it would have been a sight to see.

  
  


\----

  
  


The thing about pattern magic is that no one really knows anything about it. It’s unreliable enough to be called luck sometimes, even by people who are well-versed in it, even by people who are  _ trying _ to make something happen with pattern magic.

Sometimes, people even do it without meaning to at all.

Or perhaps those people are just extremely stubborn, with a little luck thrown in to help them along.

  
  


\----

  
  


Fero’s dreaming. He knows he’s dreaming, because he’s at the Mark of the Erasure, the way it looked before all of Hieron turned into one huge, confusing tree. He’s alone, in the dream, or- he can’t see anyone around, anyway. He doesn’t feel  _ lonely _ there though. It’s like someone is just around the corner, waiting for him.

When he does turn a corner there’s nothing by a huge, tall tree, the top of it high enough to almost block out the sun.

Fero squints at the top of the tree. There’s something there. A figure, and he feels like he knows the shape them. They’re waving to him, although surely he’s too far away, too small, for them to be able to make out from that height. In the way you do in dreams though, he can tell they have. They’re who he’s here with. They’re waiting for him, at the top.

When Fero opens his eyes, he looks up at the roof of his new-old cave home, his eyes tracing with the bark of the Rhizome have twisted around the crystal walls. He stretches and pads outside, breathing in the cool morning air. He looks up at the Rhizome, frowning as the dream comes back to him.

He can see small slips of the sky through the leaves. There’s a top to the tree, somewhere, and the view from it is probably incredible. Fero hums to himself, considering. He doesn’t have any other plans for the rest of his life, after all.

He sends a letter to Lem and Emmanuel, in case they worry about his long absence from writing them letters enough to start adventuring again to find him, and to Hella, who definitely will worry enough to come after him if she doesn’t hear from him quickly enough. He visits Ephrim on his way up, because he’s always found it difficult to write to Ephrim.

“I just never know how many of your titles to include,” says Fero.

Ephrim smiles at the old joke, which is of course why Fero said it in the first place. Ephrim might not be a lord anymore, but he’s still far too serious, especially when Throndir’s not there to chase away his darker moods.

“Any of the ones you can remember are fine. Or none at all.” Ephrim pauses, his expression turning more serious. “What will you do if you can’t find the top?”

Fero shrugs. “I will though.”

“But what if-”

“I will, I’ll-” Fero screws up his face, thinking for a moment. “I’ll send you a letter from the top, to prove it.”

“Okay,” says Ephrim slowly. He pauses, the hint of a grin at the edges of his lips. “You know, finding the top of the Rhizome sounds like it’s on the same rumor pool as Red Jack’s theory.”

Fero groans. “It does not. All trees have a top to them, that’s not the same as thinking the Rhizome is secretly one big guy or whatever.”

“It’s not the same,” says Ephrim, “but it is a little…”

Fero slouches back in his chair, crossing his arms. “It is  _ not _ .”

Ephrim laughs, any sting from his words fading at the sound.

“Okay, okay,” says Ephrim. “I guess Red Jack does like a tall tale.”

“That makes sense I guess,” says Fero, “He kind of is one.”

Ephrim smiles, and redirects their conversation to an anecdote about Ben and Blue J’s latest adventure, for which Fero is grateful. It’s hard to defend himself in the conversation anyway, since he doesn’t really have a reason to want to find it. Only the dream, lingering in his thoughts during the day, the memory of the figure in the distance against the blue sky.

He has the dream again, the night he stays at Ephrim’s. He thinks the figure might be calling down to him this time, but he’s not sure. He feels like he can almost picture the sound of their voice. It feels familiar, like deep mud or the bark of an old tree. It feels like his cave home feels, ancient and safe.

“I’m coming!” Fero yells back, “I’m on my way!”

There’s a reply, too faint to make out the words, but he can hear a smile in it.

The feeling of their voice is strong enough to jolt him awake. His skin feels warm, like he’s been standing in a patch of sunlight instead of the Rhizome’s perpetual shade.

He accepts Ephrims bundles of dried herbs before he leaves, even though he still doesn’t need to eat and can heal himself better than herbs can, because it seems to make Ephrim feel better. 

“I have too much of them in the garden anyway,” says Ephrim, “Maybe you’ll need to trade for something at the top.”

Fero shrugs, adjusting his pack to hide his expression. “Okay, sure.”

He hesitates a little at the door. It’s Ephrim who steps forwards first, pulling Fero into a hug.

“I’ll be back soon,” says Fero.

“It’s a big tree,” says Ephrim, “you might be a while.”

Fero leans his forehead against Ephrim’s side, letting them both rest for a moment before he finally pulls away.

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get back,” says Fero.

Ephrim huffs a laugh. “I look forward to your tall tale.”

Fero heads upwards from the branch Ephrim lives on, stopping when he feels tired enough to stop, figuring out the puzzle of getting from one branch to another. There’s not too many people he knows, this far up the tree, but he stops by to visit them too. They all seem to have the same opinion of his journey as Ephrim.

"There is no top of the Rhizome," says the Weaver King.

"Of course there is," says Fero, "there has to be."

The Weaver King blinks its many eyes at him. "Why must it?"

"It has to!" says Fero, "also, I had a dream where- I saw it. I saw the top of it."

The Weaver King hums thoughtfully, considering Fero’s words, giving them weight they don’t ordinarily seem to hold. He likes that about them. It makes him feel wiser than he is, a little like- Fero shakes himself, trying to stay in the present.

"A dream…” says the Weaver King after a moment. “Well then. I wish you luck."

"Thanks, I guess," says Fero, "but I won't need it. I know it's up there."

“When you return, you must tell me about it,” says the Weaver King, “It is a curiosity in this new world, like the man in the tree.”

“What- oh you don’t believe  _ that _ , do you?”

“It is not as strange as any other tale I have heard,” says the Weaver King mildly.

“The Rhizome is not  _ one big guy _ ,” says Fero.

“That remains to be seen,” says the Weaver King.

Fero makes a frustrated sound. The Weaver King laughs, the branches trembling with it. It’s quite a sight.

“When I get to the top, you’ll see,” says Fero.

“Why is that?”

“Because his face would be up there, if it was one big guy,” says Fero.

“Perhaps he is not like you,” says the Weaver King, “Perhaps he looks like me, and has a face wherever it is most convenient.”

Fero tilts his head, considering this. “Maybe. You’d think he’d want the view though.”

“Ah, yes,” says the Weaver King, “from there, it must be quite a sight.”

“I hope so,” says Fero.

Fero climbs higher still. The wood of the tree seems to change a little, becoming more weathered even though the leaves seem as thick as they do lower down. Fero takes it as a good sign.

There’s less people too. The worlds of each branch he comes to are more forest and field than anything else. They feel old, too, in the way the forest outside of Rosemerrow felt old the first time he’d gone into it.

In the quiet, the dream is even stronger. The figure waves and Fero is sure, he’s so,  _ so _ sure, that he knows them. There’s something in the set of the shoulders that makes his chest feel tight, makes him want to race across the grass and fly to the top of the tree to see their face.

He reaches a point, after months of walking and jumping from branch to branch, where the branches begin to grow smaller, still just as strong but more tapered, more delicate. New growth, Fero thinks, his steps growing faster, new growth at the top of a tree.

There’s a gap in the branch alive him, larger than is normal for the Rhizome, and Fero reaches up and pulls himself through, and then-

There’s blue.

The sky is so bright it hurts his eyes to look at it, after so long in the shade. The patchwork of green that makes up the Rhizome’s leaves almost seem to glow in the sunlight, stretching out below Fero as far as he can see.

He twists to look up at the remaining branches, his mouth dropping open at the sight. The thin branches of the top of the tree twist and flex, waving at him in the wind. It looks like a figure. It looks like a figure, one familiar enough to make Fero’s throat ache, but only for a moment, and then it fades back to being a collection of young branches again.

“Wait,” says Fero, “wait-”

He pulls himself up, carefully crawling along the thin branch towards where the figure had been. He’s not totally sure what he’s doing. He can only do what he’s always done and follow his instincts. They led him up here, after all.

“If you’re in there…” Fero inhales shakily, letting out a slow breath. “I saw you. I  _ saw _ you.”

He put his hand on the trunk of the tree, closing his eyes. The bark feels warm from the sun and, under that, from the energy and life coursing through the tree. He can feel it’s distant growth, spreading out ever further, reaching into the strata and lamina of Hieron and pulling it into a new existence.

Fero can feel himself get caught up in the current of it, thrilling at the new-old creations. The tree responds to him, a little distracted but with a spark of recognition, guiding his hand. Fero reaches out, reaches back, for something. For the figure, as he saw it, as he remembered it, as he dreamt it.

He can feel the spark of recognition again, from the tree this time. It remembers him too. Fero feels the green of the Rhizome wrap around his awareness, helping him reach further back, into the past, into his dream, and pull, and  _ pull _ -

There’s a creaking behind him, wood flexing and bending. Fero blinks, steadying himself on the trunk of the Rhizome with shaking hands.

“ _ Well _ ,” says a familiar voice behind him.

Fero turns. The branches are twisted together again, creaking as the figure they make solidifies, looking down at its hands. Vines spring from the figure’s head as its features sharpen, turning it from someone familiar into someone  _ unmistakeable _ .

“Oh,” says Fero faintly, “Am I- is this still a dream?”

Samol looks up at him, a slow smile spreading over his wooden face. “Don’t think so.”

Fero scrambles towards him, barely managing to keep his feet under him as he reaches Samol, wrapping his arms around Samol’s waist. He feels Samol’s hand come down, one resting on his shoulder, one tangling in his hair. Fero pressed his face against Samol’s side. It feels different than it did before, but the sensation of his body is the same, the way Fero fits against his side is the same.

Fero takes a few shuddering breaths before he looks up. “You’re, uh- you’re made of wood.”

“So I am,” says Samol, “You’re just the same. Older, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” says Fero, “You are too though. Everyone is.”

“I suppose that’s true,” says Samol, “That is a wonder, isn’t it? Considering where I left things.”

“I guess,” said Fero, “We figure it out though, sort of- wait.  _ Wait _ -”

Samol smiles. “What?”

“Red jack, he- did Red Jack know you were up here?”

“ _ I _ didn’t even know I was up here,” says Samol.

“He- I can’t believe he was right,” says Fero, “the Rhizome  _ was _ a guy, it was  _ you _ .”

“I’m not the Rhizome,” says Samol.

“You’re made of wood,” says Fero.

“So are the weavers,” says Samol.

“I guess,” says Fero, “But still- He’s going to love that he was right about this.”

“And you?” says Samol.

“Oh, I love the stuff  _ I _ was right about,” says Fero, “I got to the top. I knew it was up here.”

“I didn’t,” says Samol, “But it is quite the view.”

Fero turns slowly, careful not to dislodge Samol’s hands. They look out over the Rhizome together for a moment, watching the leaves wave in the distant wind.

“Is this how it used to look, before everything?” says Fero, “Hieron, I mean.”

Samol blinks, looking down at him. “No, but- it felt a bit like this, to look at it in the early days. Everything new. Everything unexplored and ready to be invented.” He pauses for a moment, swallowing. “Didn’t think I’d see the like again.”

“Me either,” says Fero.

Samol laughs, the hand on Fero’s shoulder tightening. “There’s a first time for everything, I suppose. Must be a lot of new firsts out there now.”

“Yeah,” says Fero. He pauses, pressing his lips together for a moment. “D’you wanna see?”

Samol smiles, as warm as the sun above them. “I think I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
